Shattered Dreams
by Nanashi Barton
Summary: This is exactly what happened to me today, 22002. Quatre Raberba Winner has just been betrayed by his best friend, Trowa Barton. What's going on? Under revision at the moment
1. Default Chapter

Author's note: hehe, I got over it. ~_^   
  


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Quatre walked quietly home, not wanting any attention at all from anyone. It's been the worst day yet in his life, and he had never expected this day to come. 

It was supposed to be like every other day. His morning was the usual. It was everything at school that had changed. 

He walked in the door as concertmaster of the orchestra, and walked out those same doors as second chair of first violin. He started out happily in biology, joking and fooling around with his friends as usual, only to find a huge disappointment in his next class- the accursed orchestra. 

The concertmaster was changed to Trowa. When the imbecile teacher (if you could call him a teacher) announced this, everyone was mistified. Quatre Raberba Winner, playing over seven years of violin had lost to Trowa Barton, playing only three years! It was impossible, and Quatre knew the reason why. 

The teacher, Mr. Driab, also studied with his private teacher, whose name was Mrs. Snillum. Mr. Driab had two daughters, wonderfully gifted in music. One was in college, and another one quit. The one who quit was exceptionally good, but was also exceptionally stubborn. She had left the superb teacher. The reason? 

"I'm not getting anywhere, Mrs. Snillum, I'm leaving." 

The teacher was heartbroken, of course, to see such a fine student leave. The student's name was Relena. She had told Mrs. Snillum that she only had time for one hour of practicing each day. Because of the lack of practicing, Relena wasn't getting anywhere at all, and there was a contest coming up in which she was entering. She had "overworked" the piece of music, and because of that, was stuck. It wasn't getting any better, only worse. 

Two months after Relena had left, Mrs. Snillum had told Mr. Driab that Quatre was better than he himself and both his daughters. The man refused to believe it, and was still blinded in the fact that his daughters were still better than the blonde. 

Quatre sighed as he neared the mansion. He made Trowa not tell his parents-he knew what she would do, and so did Trowa. 

Mrs. Barton was actually a very nice woman, but compared a little too much. Every little detail from grades to the violin, she compared the two. She would be jumping up and down for joy if Trowa had told her, and because of the fact that Quatre and Trowa didn't want any phone calls like that, both of them kept their mouths shut. 

It was as if Mrs. Barton had planned everything. She wanted Trowa to be first chair just for festival, nothing else. Everything, leading the entire orchestra and getting all the credit would be his. He would be the one who plays all the solos, everyone would follow his bow, and he would be the one credited as being the best player in the school. Not Quatre. 

Quatre knew that he would never have a grudge against Trowa, but he knew he would forever be angry at Mr. Driab. There will be no forgiveness this time. Quatre was set aside now. The only thing that Quatre was known for was his violin skills. He was the best musician in the school. He was a legend in sixth grade. He was the one who had been concertmaster. Quatre was thrown aside now, and Trowa had all the glory. 

Not that being the concertmaster was glory. It wasn't. It was the fact that it was because of orchestra that had made him known to a lot of the music teachers, and it was because of orchestra that he was in NJHS. His grades weren't the best like Heero's or Elizabeth's or Catherine's. His was completely normal, a's and b's. There was nothing special about him except for that fact. The fact that he was no longer the musician he had dreamed to be. He was deprived of his name and his soul. Everything was gone, scattered into the wind... with nothing to bring it back... 


	2. uh..revisions!!!!

A/N: Hey guys! Okay, let's put it this way...THANX A MILLION KITAHOSHI FOR MAKING ME COME BACK TO MY SENSES!!!! Anyway, I apologize for not completing it, because I'm a complete idiot, but...yeah....well, I'm just really worried that my "friends" whom I have asked not to read this will read it. I dunno, it's like...overflow of emotions here!!! Thank you all for reviewing and for all those who aren't reviewing, thanks for reading it!!! ^_^ Yeah, so..I guess I'll hafta trust my friends on this one. *coughLIZ!coughIamgonnakillyouifyoureadthis!cough* Anyway, yeah....if Sunata's reading this, well...I guess she can...she knows what's going on. So I guess basically the main reason why I kinda got into that mess was because of some crapped up orchestra teacher, and I didn't want people from my school to know, so, yeah...ON WITH THE FIC!!! I'm gonna post the first chapter again, just in case some people forgot, and I edited it a bit. Thanks again to Kitahoshi!!! ^_^ Bai ppl! 

Shattered Dreams 

by Nanashi Barton 

aided by my crazy, insane muse, the one and olny, Xielan. 

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This fic is for Nivla. 

Author's note: (another one???) I don't think I can ever get over this situation. I'm sorry if anyone is offended by this, but it's a true story. Please take the time to review. 

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Quatre walked quietly home, not wanting any attention at all from anyone. It's been the worst day yet in his life, and he had never expected this day to come. 

It was supposed to be like every other day. His morning was the usual. It was everything at school that had changed. 

He walked in the door as concertmaster of the orchestra, and walked out those same doors as second chair of first violin. He started out happily in biology, joking and fooling around with his friends as usual, only to find a huge disappointment in his next class- the accursed orchestra. 

The concertmaster was changed to Trowa. When the imbecile teacher (if you could call him a teacher) announced this, everyone was mistified. Quatre Raberba Winner, playing over seven years of violin had lost to Trowa Barton, playing only three years! It was impossible, and Quatre knew the reason why. 

The teacher, Mr. Driab, also studied with his private teacher, whose name was Mrs. Snillum. Mr. Driab had two daughters, wonderfully gifted in music. One was in college, and another one quit. The one who quit was exceptionally good, but was also exceptionally stubborn. She had left the superb teacher. The reason? 

"I'm not getting anywhere, Mrs. Snillum, I'm leaving." 

The teacher was heartbroken, of course, to see such a fine student leave. The student's name was Relena. She had told Mrs. Snillum that she only had time for one hour of practicing each day. Because of the lack of practicing, Relena wasn't getting anywhere at all, and there was a contest coming up in which she was entering. She had "overworked" the piece of music, and because of that, was stuck. It wasn't getting any better, only worse. 

Two months after Relena had left, Mrs. Snillum had told Mr. Driab that Quatre was better than he himself and both his daughters. The man refused to believe it, and was still blinded in the fact that his daughters were still better than the blonde. 

Quatre sighed as he neared the mansion. He made Trowa not tell his parents-he knew what she would do, and so did Trowa. 

Mrs. Barton was actually a very nice woman, but compared a little too much. Every little detail from grades to the violin, she compared the two. She would be jumping up and down for joy if Trowa had told her, and because of the fact that Quatre and Trowa didn't want any phone calls like that, both of them kept their mouths shut. 

It was as if Mrs. Barton had planned everything. She wanted Trowa to be first chair just for festival, nothing else. Everything, leading the entire orchestra and getting all the credit would be his. He would be the one who plays all the solos, everyone would follow his bow, and he would be the one credited as being the best player in the school. Not Quatre. 

Quatre knew that he would never have a grudge against Trowa, but he knew he would forever be angry at Mr. Driab. There will be no forgiveness this time. Quatre was set aside now. The only thing that Quatre was known for was his violin skills. He was the best musician in the school. He was a legend in sixth grade. He was the one who had been concertmaster. Quatre was thrown aside now, and Trowa had all the glory. 

Not that being the concertmaster was glory. It wasn't. It was the fact that it was because of orchestra that had made him known to a lot of the music teachers, and it was because of orchestra that he was in NJHS. His grades weren't the best like Heero's or Elizabeth's or Catherine's. His was completely normal, a's and b's. There was nothing special about him except for that fact. The fact that he was no longer the musician he had dreamed to be. He was deprived of his name and his soul. Everything was gone, scattered into the wind... with nothing to bring it back... 

I have more! Click the next button! If any of you ppl think I'm just one sided, I promise after Quatre's view point, I'll do Trowa's. Then maybe after I get some suggestions, I'll revise it some and make it better! *note* These are little excerpts from my journal. Please don't laugh. *sweatdrop* Click the next button! Oh yeah! If you want another similar story, read "The Tenshi." It's based on this story. 


	3. It's so hard to lose a friend, yet so ea...

This fic is for Nivla.   
  


Author's note: Whoever reads this, please review it. This is a true story, and it's not particularly the happiest one. In fact, it's still going on right now. Please, take a little bit of time and review. Updates will be added. Thanks, 

~Nanashi 

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When he got home, Quatre dropped his violin near the front door and sprinted for his room. He finished his homework, but didn't touch the violin. It hurt every time he saw it, and every step he took that made him closer to the little block of wood, it was as if ten thousand jagged knives were stabbing his heart, tearing it to shreds. He didn't practice that day. 

Before he fell asleep that night, he discovered something he had already know. "I'm just a puppet, aren't I?" he whispered to himself, "I've been used for the six years I've known him, and now that Mrs. Barton's gotten what she wanted for her son, I get thrown into a cardboard box, never to be opened again. I'm just shoved to the side, where none of the limelight shines. He's got it all now. With my chair goes my name, and one again, I am Nanashi. No longer Quatre Raberba Winner, but Nanashi, with nothing. Not even a name to go by." 

***   
  


The blonde went through the doors of Kemps Landing once again, refusing to cry, and came back out of them at the end of the day, concertmaster once more. Damn that orchestra teacher, he had made a mess of everything! 

Seven years of practice also means seven years of sight reading skills. Three years of practicing meant only three years of sight-reading skills. Face the facts. Trowa couldn't sight-read, or play the solo. This was Mr. Driab's reason. 

Quatre felt betrayed, hurt, and completely unhappy. Mr. Driab forced him to take back the chair, and Trowa did say he was uncomfortable in it. It was a lie. The whole thing was rigged. When orchestra first started, they were playing Folk Song and Shanty by Richard Meyer, and there was a solo which went up into the higher positions and required vibrating. Trowa wasn't allowed to vibrate yet, and he could play the solo. Quatre ran to the bathroom right after they had finished playing the Folk Song part. When he entered the doors of the school, tears formed at the edges of his eyes, but they never fell. Sighing, he walked back to orchestra. And that was when the accursed orchestra teacher pulled him and Trowa aside. 

***   
  


They talked outside the portable. Mr. Driab explained to the two how they played-one would play better one day, and another would probably play better another day. /This makes no sense,/ Quatre thought to himself, trifling, /Mrs. Snillum said that I was by far better than Trowa, with a huge gap in between. This isn't right-this whole thing was rigged./ At that point, Trowa was saying that he was uncomfortable in first chair, and Mr. Driab asked Quatre to take it back. The blonde shook his head. 

"Why?" 

"Because," the blonde whispered, close to tears, "because of his mom." 

"His mother will get mad at me, not you. Do you want first chair?" 

Quatre shook his head. 

"Too bad. It's yours." He stomped back into the portable, floor bending under his enormous weight. 

Quatre's tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes. "You don't understand...I can't take it back." he whispered. 

Trowa was still leaning against the side of the portable. "Why?" 

"Trowa, I've known you for six years. I've been used by you mother for those six years that I've known you. I'm a puppet, Trowa, used by everyone. And now, I'm thrown back into a cardboard box. Your mother has always wanted you to have first chair-once she finds out, that's where all the trouble starts. I'm sorry, Trowa. She compares so much, and I can't stand it. I wasn't joking when I said my name belongs to my violin. Without it, I'm just Nanashi, locked away in the dark. I don't know if you'll ever understand. I can't even believe I'm telling you this. Just take this warning, Trowa. My mother is a very wise woman, and she had a gift. This gift was the ability to see through people's masks of emotion and want. I inherited it from her, and I see a lot of things down your path of life...Trowa, I hope I'm wrong. I hope what I see will never happen." 

Quatre wiped his eyes, blew his nose on a tissue, and walked back into the orchestra portable, with Trowa right behind him. 


	4. A heart...Shattered into the Winds

A week had passed since those terrifying auditions. Everyone had soon forgotten about it...except for Quatre. 

/I can still see the hurt in his eyes, betrayal written all over his face. I can see his mother, laughing and cursing Mr. Driab for not letting her son keep first chair. I can see Elizabeth, the first chair cellist, upset. Meghan is too competitive. 

How did Meghan get first chair in the first place? Even I thought she was too competitive. It was Mr. Driab's fault in the first place. He said that her and Elizabeth always ties for first chair. Elizabeth always won the tie breakers. 

This time, Meghan went a step too far. She asked Mr. Driab to tape the two of them and let Mrs. Snillum seat them. Elizabeth gave up. It was all too much for her. Mrs. Snillum is a very strict teacher, and an extremely good one also. Of course, the person she said who was better would be happy, while the other would probably be upset for the rest of her life. Elizabeth knew who was better, but she didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. 

I saw the pain writhing around in her heart. Elizabeth tries so hard to put that aside, but she can't. Mr. Driab has hurt so many people. Me, Trowa, Elizabeth, Catherine...the list goes on and on. 

Mr. Driab can't just hand me back my chair and pretend that nothing ever happened. He already destroyed my reputation, my love for music, everything that I hold dear to my heart. I've lost so many friends through that damn audition. I hate him. I won't forgive him. I can't forgive him. Every time I pick up my violin, I see the chips of paint that had come off. I feel as if each chip was a hole in my heart. I don't think I can ever look at the surface of my violin ever again. 

People at my Arabic school are always saying how good I am at playing the violin...but it only takes one parent to say, "But Trowa won the chair audition. The only reason why Quatre is in first chair is because Mr. Driab let him. Probably out of pity." 

That's all it takes. He's destroyed my life. That bitch. Sometimes I wish he'd die and go to hell, but that's not very nice. So now, I'm wishing that he would go away, and that I'd never have to see him again. 

Trowa never seems to talk to me anymore, except in imperative times when he has to talk. I don't know what I can possibly do. 

He was the first friend I ever had. I never had a single friend until second grade. That was when I met him at Arabic school. His parents made him go. Well, our mothers got along fine at the beginning. He always came over when his mom came over, and we usually played in my huge backyard. One time, we were doing cartwheels. He was a tad chubby back then, so he always did them lopsided. It was even funnier when he tried it inside. He hit his foot on one of the desks. I feel sorry for his foot. 

If only the present could be like the past. Oh why was orchestra invented anyway?! I hate it. I HATE IT!/ 

Quatre's heart screamed with rage as he ran into the park. He couldn't stand it anymore He didn't even know if he could ever live this down. 

The blonde sat down onto he swing. He knew he had been a bit rude to Trowa. He couldn't help it. His friend's mother had made him this way. Quatre sighed, and pushed his legs forward. He wanted to feel like a little kid again, when there weren't such complicated problems. He wanted everything to be easy like it used to be. But he knew that it wouldn't happen...everything was gone with the wind...forever... 


	5. A Demon in an Angel's Body

Quare went back home a while later, feeling a tad depressed. Yeah, it's been a couple weeks, but what seems like a small mishap to others could mean so much more to another. 

A few more weeks passed. Nothing happened. The blonde was still cheery, bright, and outgoing to everyone when he was at school, but when he was back home, he was another person. It was as if anther entity had taken over his body the second he stepped through those large wooden doors to the mansion. 

The mansion was so large, and so quiet. It provided lots of time to think. Perhaps a little too much time to think. There were no distractions. Mr. Winner wouldn't allow it. 

Who would have known. All City results came in. He made second chair. Relena made first. Typical. That's what happened at Jr. Regionals also. 

He scanned down the list of names. Trowa made eighth chair, Lady Une made sixth, and Sylvia Noventa made seventeenth. He was still in the top, better than his school, perhaps. 

He sighed as he flicked on his laptop, getting ready to start his To Kill a Mockingbirdproject that had been assigned. He was a procrastinator, but he vowed to break himself of that habit. 

He began by alphabetizing the words, and then he looked up the definitions. It was probably around seven when he pulled out his geometry book. 

It was as if time swooped by. Mr. Driab announced that All City was to be on April 26. The exact day of the science field trip to the caverns. And it would also be Pompeii Day for the Latin students. And State Bowl. And the seventh grader's trip to Busch Gardens. Perfect. 

Quatre couldn't believe it. He had looked forward to the science field trip for a number of reasons. 

He was an eighth grader at a gifted school. After eighth grade, everyone would be separated. Different High Schools, different academies. It was as if they were being torn apart by the school superintendent himself. This long field trip to the edge of Virginia would be the last they would ever have as students of Kemps Landing Magnet. 

/It's like as if fate had planned this all along. It's as if the whole world is against me. I know the saying, that you're really against the world, but it's like even my best friend is against me. 

I really thought that Duo would understand. He didn't. I tried to ask him for advice, and he had none to give. 

Trowa and I used to always talk online, laugh together, play when we were younger even, swim, anything. Every time he was about to get off the internet, he'd always say, "g2g, bye." 

It all stopped. The laughs, the cya laters, the time. Every time I want to talk to him, it had to be about schoolwork. Everything had to be about homework. Every time I instant message him, he gets in trouble. I guess his mom doesn't like me talking to him anymore. 

He's so uptight now. I haven't seen him laugh as often, not even a small smile. I guess he lives with a lot of pressure on his back. I feel so sorry for him sometimes. When I try to talk to him, it's like I'm talking to a brick wall. He has that barrier up again./ 

Spring Break came and went. All Quatre did was that English project. In the end, his project came out to be 47 pages. Heero thought he was crazy. Quatre didn't care. 

Ms. Young, the Science teacher, called him into her room one day after class. 

"You are not allowed to go on this field trip to Natural Bridge. You are going to All City." 

Quatre merely stared back, shocked, and nodded his head. 

*** 

"It's all Ms. Young's fault in the first place, Quatre. She had no right to do that." 

All City had been on the school calendar since last year. Ms. Young was obviously not paying any attention to it when she scheduled it. Did she know how many people she was disappointing? 

"Well, I guess it's not her fault that much," the blonde started to tell Catherine, "I guess she really did try hard to pull it off..." 

"Quatre, stop blaming yourself! You're just as bad as Trowa! Maybe even worse!" 

"I'm sorry..." 

The blonde looked at her, and ran. 

*** 

/I wish I could leave from this cruel world. There are so many decisions! High School, All City.. If I went to All City, I'm just a number. People won't remember me for who I am. Relena's first chair, and she's concertmaster..she gets all the credit. That's okay. 

But what's really eating me inside is that at Bay Youth, there's this girl named Poorna who keeps asking me if I'm going on the field trip or not. She wants me to go, so she can have a better chair. It'd look better. There's no honor in that, substituting, you know? You're cheating the world and yourself. 

Sometimes I wonder why I keeps playing that little block of wood. It's causing so many problems! I hate it! There's so much competition between everyone in orchestra...I guess it comes from being in a gifted school, but still! 

Sometimes I wish I were someone else. I have a tyrant for a father, my mother is dead, and all twenty-nine of my sisters are too busy with their own lives. Father doesn't love me...I was just created. Created to be the heir to the Winner fortune, only so that my sisters could still have the 3000 billion credits. I know it's selfish, but I guess I'm a selfish person...people don't see who I am. They see a Quatre who's like everyone else, happy, joyful, someone with a loving family. 

Everyday I walk into an empty house. It's so big, but so lonely. People never saw who I was inside. I was lost, completely, and I still am. There is no light. I feel like I'm a demon locked up in an angel. I'm the dark side. No one knows that the innocent Quatre Raberba Winner has a dark side. I only hope that they'll never find out. Or it'd be too late. 

I am a demon, locked up in an angel's body./ 


	6. I Do Not Exist...

I went to All City.

I just sat there, listening to the incredibly perky director. Allah, she was scary. Relena was so fake and-well, being Relena. Her "angelic" attitude was fake. Her smile was fake. Her playing was fake.

I wish some of my friends were here.

I suppose there were some rather funny things that happened. I sat next to Simeon Kim, who was principle second. Thirty minutes before the concert, a girl named Nancy tried to get him to button his shirt correctly. She lifted his tie up, and buttoned it.

The collar was too small for this.

The tie stood straight up.

Simeon was choking.

He deserved it.

It was completely hilarious! Another girl named Jennifer asked me if I knew Trowa. I said I did, and she pelted me with questions about him. Geez, someone has a crush on a certain friend of mine...if you can call him a friend anymore.

This girl came up to Relena. Dear Allah, she was such an arrogant pig! So egotistical! Way more than Heero-as if that is possible. Heero has the biggest ego that I know of.

She just waltzed up during break and said to her, not even noticing that I was there, "Hi Relena. You know, when you play, it's like as if your violin melts right into your hand. It's so natural-looking." 

"Thanks...Who are you?"

I didn't catch the name. Whomever that girl was, she was really getting on my nerves. She stood there for what seemed to be hours (five minutes had really passed) before I stood up and walked away. She sat down immediately in my chair. She and Relena chatted away, so I wandered around aimlessly. I had no one to talk to but myself. Nothing to do, no music to play.

When I came back, the girl had given Relena a piece of music by Beethoven. It's that really famous symphony-not Fur Elise. I looked over at the girl who was just in my seat-she smiled a sickening smile. Allah, it was way too sweet. Someone definitely wanted me out of my chair. When I turned my back, I could feel her glare at the back of my head. I shook my head. There were too many things going on. I still had to finish my To Kill a Mockingbird project. Damn. 

A little while later, that girl came over again to listen to Relena play the symphony. She whispered into Relena's ear: "See, I have a reason for being in second violin. I didn't try out. If I did, I bet I'll be second chair." Then she bent over to whisper to Relena: "I know I'm a hell of a lot better than that Allah-loving bastard. I'll bet he was one of the hijackers on the plane."

I turned away, and ignored her for the rest of the time. If someone like her wants to be a bitch, she could be one. I don't care.

The performance came and went like any other performance. I was only a number in that orchestra-I would so much rather be with my friends at Natural Bridge than stuck in this godforsaken place with no one to talk to but myself. I would much rather be a person than a number. I wish people would know that I had a name. The conductor's just like, hey, you-#2! You're supposed to turn the page! Even Relena does that to me-and she knows my name.

I hate All City. Relena's pretty nice-if you're patient enough to stand her constant rambling about how great she is and everything. Queen of the World. 

I went home and ditched Arabic School. Like I care.   
  


(A/N: This part of the story isn't true [below. The above is all real.]. I just think it ought to end by the time school lets out. Maybe I'll do a sequel...review!)  
  


I've been feeling rather strange lately. Tons of nosebleeds, and my head hurts from the loss of blood every morning. I don't know what's wrong with me any more. I just feel as if the life I have is draining out of me. Sometimes, I can't even pick up the violin without dropping it. Heero said I looked a little paler than I usually do. What is wrong with me?! It's probably just an illusion, I decided a little later. There is nothing wrong with me. Never has, never will be.

Nothing has ever been wrong, nothing will ever be wrong.

My father does not have a son.

I do not play the violin.

I was never born.

I don't have 29 sisters who care about me.

I don't have any friends.

I do not play the violin.

I am not an angel.

I am not a devil.

I do not exist.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A/N: I'll put up the next chapter. Click the button. I just felt like making you guys click the button. I like cliffhangers! ^_^ Hehe...cya later!


	7. ..

She could only watch in sorrow as the blonde thirteen-year-old grew paler, and weaker. The cancer had progressed too far for hope of removal. The only way Quatre would survive is if a person with the same blood as he would donate bone marrow. That was the absolute last hope.

  
  


With the formal coming up, Quatre was getting more and more stressed out. The food had to be donated, cards had to be made, they layout had to be done-you figure the rest out. He knew he wasn't going to live long, but at least he could enjoy himself for one night-one last night of fun with his friends, perhaps.

  
  


He had even made a will for himself. He was that hopeless.

  
  


None of his sisters had the same blood type as he did, for they were all born of different mothers. His father couldn't help him either. Iria turned to his friends. Duo gladly let the blonde's sister test his blood-type A. Quatre had type OB. It didn't match.

  
  


Wufei, Catherine, Heero, Hilde, Dorothy, even Nanashi also took the blood test. None of them worked. Nanashi's was the closest-type O. It was said that a person who had type-O blood could donate to anyone. (A/N: I made this part up. It's not true.) Wrong. OB is a type of genetic blood. It wasn't very common in natural-born people, nor was it easily found among test-tube babies.

  
  


Iria turned to Trowa. He nodded, and he too, went in to get his blood checked. Iria prayed to Allah as she plunged the needle into his strong arm that it would be a match. Quatre meant more to her than anything in the world. When she pulled out the needle, she ran it under the radioactive blue light. It was...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...keep scrolling....

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


This is getting really annoying, isn't it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And all you people thought that this would be a really long chapter.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


I'm sorrie.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It was a match.

  
  


Iria jumped with joy and hugged the bewildered boy that sat silently on the table. She immediately called his parents. Mrs. Barton answered the phone. 


	8. Match

"Hello? This is Mrs. Barton speaking. May I help you?"

"Mrs. Barton?" asked Iria in an excited voice, "We've got a match! Trowa's blood matches our Quatre's! May we please have some of his bone marrow to transplant? It's Quatre's only hope. Please, Mrs. Barton-"

"No! I will not help that son of a bitch who stole my own son's chair! Who do you think you are, calling up people asking for bone marrow."

"For your information ma'am, I am a certified doctor who does not enjoy making phone calls. I'm trying to save my little brother's life here! Don't you understand?! Quatre is my father's only son! He is my only little brother! What has he ever done to you? Anything bad, horrible? Dear Allah, Mrs. Barton, he is your son's BEST FRIEND!"

"My answer is final. NO. N - o. No. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barton, but if Quatre dies, I will be sure to make the world know it was your fault. Your fault that you let an innocent little boy die."

"INNOCENT?! You call that blonde haired freak innocent?! He-"

*~CLICK*~

Iria slammed the phone down, tears stinging her eyes.

"Miss Iria, please understand my mother. She's a little...upset right now. It's my fault, really. I told her even when Quatre told me not to. It was just too unbelievable...I'm sorry."

The doctor sighed. "It's not your fault, Trowa. Go home. I don't want any trouble."

"We could still do the transplant if you want. Just don't tell my mother. I'm out somewhere all the time, so she won't know..."

"No, Trowa," she said, a small smile on her face, "we can't. Your mother is a very powerful person when you're under eighteen. We could get sued and everything along those lines. There's a death penalty to that too. L4 is just not the same anymore...it's ruled by a different Alliance-a dominating one. Your mother knows as well as I do that they hate doctors. They believe that Allah will heal them with his own power-but even I am starting to doubt Allah. Perhaps it will be better to change faiths. Allah has not done anything to help us, only hurt us. Yes, perhaps it is time to change traditions."

Trowa nodded his head. "As much as I want to help Quatre, Miss Iria, I understand what you mean. With one complaint, they could kill all the doctors in the entire colony. But please, Miss Iria, call me if anything goes wrong. Anything. Quatre is my best friend. And...tell him...tell him that if I've hurt him by not talking to him anymore, please ask him to forgive me...my mother won't let me even speak to him. She found out one time when I was talking to him, and she said that the next time I do, she would kill him herself. Please...don't let him think I hate him, because I don't...he's like my little brother too."

A single tear rolled down Trowa's face. "I was adopted, you know...I lost both my parents and whatever siblings I had...Quatre and the rest of the gang are like my family-my real family. I never thought that such an instrument could break us all up."

He turned around, and left the hospital. 


End file.
